Darkest Before The Dawn
by dashonly
Summary: Post Season 2 finale. We have a LONG ways to go before S3 and this will be a LONG fic and my way of coping with it. Primarily Bellarke (but they will have to work for it) although multiple POV's and other characters will be introduced. I want to examine how these characters will move on, heal, and come to terms with their lives. Rated M for possible later smut because it's fun.
1. Chapter 1

In sorrow and pride she exiled herself into the vast unknown woods.

She gave up begging whatever God for help, for favour. Her time on the ground had revealed to her that if some Creator had actually had a hand in breathing them into existence - it was a cruel, not benevolent one.

The Cataclysm had almost wiped out the world, and yet the stubborn Earth had survived and thrived despite their best efforts to snuff out life.

And so had they.

Clinging precariously to an unnatural existence in the cold indifference of space. The last of their species they had believed. And they had thought themselves noble for eking out an existence up there. Playing God and casting judgements. Doling out life and death at their whim to serve some greater end. Some dream of survival for the oh-so-magnificent human race.

What a giant fucking cosmic joke that had turned out to be.

 _No one was innocent._

The first two days she had walked, looking to put as many miles between her and the camp or anyone who might come after her as possible.

No one had.

And then still she had walked on until the peak of that horrible mountain tomb was no longer visible.

She walked heedless of her hunger and exhaustion. Stopping occasionally to pick what roots and nuts they had learned to identify that still grew this late in the season. Once she had even come upon a nest with eggs and devoured all five without bothering to stop and light a fire to cook them. She had no taste for any of it. She ate because she had to.

Emotions numb, though close to the surface, threatened to break through at any moment, to remind her of her failures and she walked to keep them at bay.

She was used to pain and hunger. Her life on the Ark had been full of it. The ground was no better. She had been considered one of the "privileged" ones up there, but really the difference between her and the rest was splitting hairs. Like arguing who had gotten to eat the less stale crust of bread.

And it felt good to punish her body this way. It felt pure. The hunger gave way to a comforting feeling of light headedness and near euphoria. It distanced her even more from her body and from herself. But like all living creatures, even those determined in self-flagellation, she had an ingrained sense of self-preservation.

On the seventh day of her aimless wandering she came upon an apple tree still ripe with withered, tiny fruit. Not having the strength to climb the old, twisted branches, she gathered what she could that had fallen to the ground and devoured the small, wormy apples before collapsing at the base of the trunk in a dreamless sleep.

She awoke with a start and in confusion of her surroundings. It was cold. How long had she been asleep? Her body felt stiff and bruised and still so weary. She felt like an old woman, not like a young girl in the prime of her life.

For the first time in a long time she was waking up to no responsibility. No sounds save for the forest. Not since her year of isolation on the Ark had she seen a morning with no one asking something of her, needing something. No impending doom. Up there she had spent her hours drawing Earth from the pictures she had known and studied. In the mornings she would awaken to the ever expanding illustrations on the walls and floor. They gave her comfort and a sense of beauty and peace in her lonely cell.

Down here she awoke to the real thing but the overwhelming beauty of the indifferent landscape gave her no peace. And somehow made her feel even lonelier.

Sitting up she ate more of the tiny sour apples and drank the stale water in her canteen. She had nothing to do. It felt good. But then she felt guilt at that thought. The pang in her chest reminded her what she had left behind. And who. She quickly dispelled those notions from her head, refusing to even allow their names to enter her mind. Painful images began to crowd her mind, threatening to stay and and overwhelm and make her face them.

Sitting still was dangerous.

Clarke stood up and stretched and began to stuff as many apples into her pack that would fit.

And then because she had nothing else to do, she began to walk again.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been two weeks since he had begged her to enter the camp with him.

Two weeks of throwing himself tirelessly into endless tasks and duties after her refusal.

Two weeks of determination to heed her last request to him.

Furious that she had made it of him. Furious at himself for letting her walk away.

She was allowed the luxury of time and distance. He had to face every person in the camp daily. At night he faced his ghosts.

Oh and he was a member of the Council now. Bellamy Blake. Criminal. Murderer. A member of the fucking council.

The people he had despised his entire life. The others, the privileged ones. The ones who had sentenced his sister to death for the crime of being born and had floated his mother for her audacity to want her daughter to live. He was one of them. This decision had been brought to him by Kane and Abby.

 _"You've proven yourself time and time again. This isn't the Ark. Your people need you and we can't do it without you."_

A humble Kane uttering the unthinkable.

But it was always supposed to be _her_ seat.

Abby looking at him with beseeching, motherly eyes. The latter had pissed him off but still he had accepted. What else was there for him to do? And truth be told, with the war seemingly over, there was an unimaginable amount of work to be done and the magnitude of it all was overwhelming if he tried to look at the big picture. So he didn't. He focused on the smaller parts that would make up the whole and hoped they would somehow fall into place.

There had been no sign from the Grounders other then Lincoln who was one of them now. Not that Bellamy trusted this current cease fire. Their defenses were top priority. The council understood this theoretically but seemed incapable of making any concrete decisions or actions.

And then there was the insane notion some of them had to move their camp into the mountain itself. Into that hellish tomb. Never.

So he had sat in on endless meeting about their fucking laws. The laws from the Ark could no longer apply to their people down here, everyone knew that. They wouldn't stand for it even if the council tried. So they had to be rewritten. Bellamy had little interest. In meetings he glared at the people around him as they discussed laws. _Laws_. There was no _law_ on the ground. They were just a small tribe of the luckiest fucking survivors from space. And survival was still their key priority. Kane had noticed his growing fury and unrest in the meetings and wisely had set him in motion instead.

Now Bellamy stalked the perimeter surveying the work that was being done. Armed guards at their posts wearily eying the woods. They were reinforcing the electric fence. Electrified wires were great, but in its current state it wouldn't stop arrows or spears from attacking from outside. They needed real reinforcements. Any man and woman strong enough was set to work. Did anyone know what they were really doing? No. There were no forests in space. There was only _theory_. An entire civilizations worth of books and techniques and instructions, some of which survived in the hard drives but it may have well been written in some alien language.

Earth Skills 101. He laughed bitterly at the mandatory courses they had all taken designed to prepare them for this.

They were all like children down here. And that would get them killed. Winter was fast approaching. It was getting colder every day. He woke at dawn most days from a restless sleep only to wander out into frost. Some days now there was a light dusting of snow. He marveled at it. So simple - frozen water, it was beautiful. He gathered the powdery stuff in his hands and squeezed until it turned further into ice and burned his hand with the cold.

He pictured her out alone in this but quickly banished the thought from his mind. She had made her choice. The fury he felt drove him relentlessly into punishing his body. He did more then simply bark orders at people - he jumped in and did the toughest work alongside them and they respected and admired him for it. Feared him for what he was, for what he had done. And for the relentless intensity he put into everything. It made them all work harder. Not until hunger gnawed at him relentlessly around high noon would he stop to break his fast.

Lincoln had warned them that the game would sometimes dry up in the cold season. That people had starved through harsh winters. And so food was another obstacle he tackled. Traps and snares were set out throughout the woods to get what game they could. Hunting expeditions were organized and deployed and he frequently led them as he was still the best hunter they had.

 _They looked up to him._

He was mindful of a hundred duties from dawn until dusk. Octavia worried he was being spread too thin and that he would exhaust himself to sickness but the constant work was the only thing which kept him sane. When he let his focus break, the ghosts would creep back.

All of the dead. The monstrous things he had done in the name of survival.

No he wouldn't let that happen. So he embraced the fury and allowed it to propel him forward. Refused to admit that it was merely masking the pain, the intense wound on his soul that was laid open and gaping for everyone to see. That he would eventually have to stop and face the ghosts.

So yes, they respected and admired him. But none loved him save for Octavia. None made a friend of him.

And so he felled lumber and tracked their meat. He planned and organized. He ran himself into exhaustion until he passed out like the dead. And he prayed each night as his eyes closed that the dreams would be kept at bay.


	3. Chapter 3 Octavia

Octavia carefully scrutinized the various animal furs scattered across the floor and the group of five teenagers staring at her with a mixture of something that was akin to awe and fear

Awe and fear of _her_.

She didn't exactly mind or blame them. She was dressed like a Grounder in tanned and dyed animal skins and she carried always a sword on her back and knives at her hip and boot. She was Octavia Blake. Formerly of the Tree People. Formerly of The Sky People. Formerly of The Girl Who Lived Under The Floor. And of course - Current Grounder Pounder. The last one made her secretly smile, not that she would never admit that to any of them. And god forbid if anyone said it in front of Lincoln. The "pounder" part of that nickname would definitely take on a whole new meaning if anyone dared utter the slur in his hearing.

Lincoln was out in the woods somewhere with Abby gathering medicinal herbs to dry and store for the upcoming winter. He was as fascinated with Abby and their modern technological advances in medicine as she was with him and his skills as a healer and his vast knowledge of the native plants. An unlikely mutual respect and friendship had blossomed between the two. It was adorable. She had said that to him one day and he had merely furrowed his brow at her in that way he did whenever she said something that he found confusing. Which was often.

Octavia saw in this how much he truly loved being a healer. He was a healer first and a warrior second but so few people outside of herself were privy to this other, gentler side of his nature. It became more prevalent as he adjusted to life in the camp and she saw that having this renewed purpose here amongst her people was also beginning to heal him from the horrors of the last few months.

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since they marched back from the mountain with the wounded and traumatized.

Absentmindedly she monitored the group as they slowly and carefully stitched the furs into blankets and cloaks for the upcoming winter. None of them really had any idea what to expect. The kind of cold that Lincoln described was a foreign concept to a people raised on a climate controlled metal heap in outer space. How cold _can_ it get? Did she even really want to find out? Already the nights chilled her to the bone and it would only get _worse_? Ugh.

Naturally she was tasked with this duty. Her mother had been a seamstress and she had grown up learning to sew at her side. Not much else for her to do in their tiny flat when Bellamy was away.

Bellamy.

She had forgotten one title:

Sister To Man Who Is Currently Trying To Literally Kill Himself Through Sheer Effort.

She watched her brother moving tirelessly across the camp raising giant logs into place to make up the new perimeter of their camp. It was slow and grueling work. He was always working it seemed, forgetting to eat. To rest. Did he even sleep? For the first time in her short life she was the one taking care of him. She brought him food and water regularly because otherwise it seemed like he would just happily starve himself. Work his fingers to the bone until his body shut down and collapsed in on itself like a dying star.

Maybe that's what he wanted.

She shivered involuntarily at her dark thoughts. If her brother was anything - it was a survivor first and foremost. They all were.

"Your stitches are looking great. Keep at it."

Without another word she got up and began walking towards the "kitchens" for their daily lunch allotment. Some days it was quite good. Some days there was barely enough for a child to feel full on much less people who were constantly active, constantly working. Constantly _hungry_. Today was one of the decent times. She smiled at the older woman who handed her two plates, not even needing to ask her if she would be taking Bellamy his share that day. She began to walk across the camp to where her brother hadn't yet bothered to stop working or look around much to the annoyance of the team who worked with him and certainly _did_ notice and smell the food.

Midday already and after a quick lunch there would be combat training and changing of the guard. A constant flurry of activity and preparation. A group would sweep the perimeter outside the fence several times a day checking for unseen signs of danger that may lurk in the dark woods outside of their illusion of safety.

It was crazy how things at camp had simply fallen back into a normal rhythm. She had thought it impossible after what they had been through. How could they wake up and go through the menial tasks of just _living?_

But here they were, going on with life in the best ways they knew how.

In truth, she hated it here. Hated the camp. The ugliness of the earth downtrodden by thousands of footsteps. The giant hulking metal ship. Hated the constant presence of other bodies always milling about. The stares and whispers. The rumours. The constant buzz of voices. Hated the disconnect she felt from the majority of these people. _Her_ people. But they weren't, not really. She wasn't even meant to exist after all.

And now Bellamy was part of the council that he had vehemently hated with every fiber of his being. It had been a natural step for him and the right one considering their circumstance.

But she just wanted to take Lincoln and go. They could survive in the woods just fine. But he was needed here. And she couldn't abandon Bellamy. So she stayed.

For now.

She stopped in front of her brother, waiting for him to acknowledge her. He had this distant look in his eyes sometimes. Like he was staring right through you, never actually seeing the person in front of him.

"Hey big brother." She smiled at him and finally his eyes focused on her face and smiled back.

"Hey little sis." He glanced at the plates of food in her hands. "Looks good."

They moved to a relatively quiet spot and sat down on the ground together. Octavia silently passed him a canteen of water and his plate of food. Roasted meat of some sort and a type of purple root that had a pleasantly sweet, earthy flavour.

They ate in a comfortable silence. No one joined them today.

For the millionth time she tried to think of a way to start up a conversation with him. To enter his thoughts. To tell him about the worries that plagued her every waking moment. About her fears for their future. But something always stopped her. Some haunted look in his eyes made her feel like she would be treading in a place not welcome. They had always been everything to each other. He was the big brother who had taken care of her better then her real father (whoever that was) ever could. He had instilled in her his own love of mythology and history. Of the great ancient civilizations that had ruled long-dead kingdoms. Read her stories. Played with her. They could talk to each other about anything but that was no longer the case.

And like most days Bellamy had wolfed down his food like a starving man. Too fast for her to collect her thoughts and open her mouth to breach any real topic with him. So she remained silent yet again.

"Are you on outside sweep after this?" he asked.

"Yes. Team of six. It's been quiet. We're also on track tanning furs and making blankets. I've organized the oldest and youngest to do this like you asked."

He nodded. "Good. We need to take inventory of what supplies we have. Can you do that by the end of tomorrow?"

"I think so. I hope..."

She trailed off and looked away. No sense in adding to his burdens.

"That it will be enough?" He finished for her.

"Yes."

"So do I. There's still talk within the council of moving into the mountain for the winter."

She swallowed a hard lump in her throat. Of course she knew. They all did. Currently the only thing holding them at an impasse was Bellamy, Kane, and some guy who's name she hadn't bothered to learn yet. And Abby who broke the vote in favour of a hard _no_. But still the talk was relentless. Whispers everywhere. The camp was split between the people who wanted to go and those of them who would rather die then ever go near that place again.

Teams had been quietly sent back to the mountain to salvage supplies and food stuffs. What, if anything, had been done with the several hundred corpses, she didn't know and had no intention of asking. As far as she was concerned the mountain didn't exist. She hated handling the salvaged things from that place. Hated the way those from the Ark who hadn't been inside of it _oohed_ and _ahhhed_ over new clothes and trinkets. And she knew it would kill Bellamy to go back. That his tenuous hold on reality would snap.

She still didn't know the full story but Monty had filled her in on enough.

She looked up at him and smirked. "Yeah no thanks. It won't come to that. We'll be ready."

He nodded again.

"Is Lincoln on your team?"

"No he's out gathering herbs with Abby."

Bellamy scowled at this. "I don't want you outside of this fence without him to protect you."

She wanted to be angry at annoyed at his words. She wanted to pout and storm off like she would have done just a few weeks ago. But in truth she felt only a rush of pride and love that Bellamy trusted Lincoln that much to guard her life.

Actual tears welled up in her eyes and she spontaneously hugged her surprised brother. "Bell it's midday. Nothing's out there. Nowhere to hide. And Miller and his dad are on my team. I'm going to be fine and _yes_ I will bring a damn gun so don't remind me."

He smiled at her in that familiar sarcastic way of his and gently squeezed her shoulders. It was a smile from the old Bellamy. Before the mountain had done a number on him.

"Just because I trust Lincoln with your life doesn't mean I'm ever going to stop worrying. Or that you'll ever stop being my baby sister." He said the words lightly but she knew they weren't. And for the millionth time she felt grateful to have him.

But then a memory of Tondc flooded her mind and she pulled away. Of fire and smoke. Of the smell of burnt flesh. A dead nameless child with open eyes staring at nothing.

He still didn't know. She still struggled with knowing if telling him was the right move.

In truth, much of his current state was fueled by Clarke's leaving. And she knew it took every ounce of strength he possessed to not leave the camp in search of her.

In so many ways he needed Clarke and felt lost without her. What it all meant Octavia hadn't figured out yet. There were so many things to figure out these days that focusing on any one thing was impossible.

Octavia's anger and hatred of Clarke had mellowed to a dull confusing ache but she knew she would never forgive her for not warning them about that missile.

Whether that was fair or not was something she couldn't decide yet either.

In so many ways, life under the floor boards had been easier. She got up, gathered the empty plates and said goodbye to her brother. Their break was over. She would go outside the fence and patrol. Bellamy would go back to punishing his body with hard labour as a path to redemption.

One more day on the ground.


	4. Chapter 4 Clarke

_Hey guys, thanks for the reviews and follows! XOXO continuing here, again still slowly. Action will pick up soon, but so much angst is also on the way. When is season 3 coming?_

Over a distant horizon the sun was quickly setting. She knew the daylight hours got shorter and longer as the seasons changed, but seeing it was a startling reality of how fast winter was approaching.

She shivered in her thin clothes.

Clarke was cold. And hungry. And tired. And a million other things but the cold and hunger were the first of her priorities.

She had cautiously skirted around any signs of human civilization in her many days of roaming, but now she sought out some semblance of civilization for the sustenance she knew she badly needed to keep surviving.

And here it was in front of her - a deer hung dead and gutted from a tree. She had watched it from her hiding spot in the hallow of a massive tree, obscured by thick brush, terrified to move, terrified that the hunters who had hung it up there could come back at any moment and find her.

But they hadn't.

She vaguely remembered Bellam- she shook her head violently at that momentary intrusion of his name in her head. That was a name, a memory she had neatly put away into a different compartment in her mind for some later date.

\- She remembered being told that a carcass of that size would be hung up for days to bleed out and age. The exact reasons why escaped her now. But it seemed strange that anyone would leave prime meat for the stealing this far away from any camp or village.

Was it a trap? Or had the hunt been so successful that they couldn't carry back all they had taken?

It was risky, she knew. And so she sat and watched, her extremities growing increasingly numb.

Logically speaking, the animal had been hung far from the ground and clear of the tree trunk. Too far for any predators to take it, save a human being.

Logically, it was too dark for the hunters to return now and process a kill this large and return back to their camp.

Which meant she must have until morning, which would be the only _logical_ time for them to return and bring their kill back to wherever they had come from.

For the millionth time it struck her how little she knew about the way life progressed here on earth, about the knowledge that was taught and ingrained in these people who had survived the Cataclysm.

She had grown up on a diet of mostly protein paste, doled out in carefully calculated amounts and macros that varied according to age, gender, and height. What the hell was she really expected to know about hunting and processing a deer carcass? She had helped the group with these things after their arrival, but never alone. Earth Skills courses up on the Ark hadn't interested her as much as medicine and biology. Even after she had been approved into the advanced placement, what had she really retained? Hopefully enough to survive alone she realized grimly.

Learn fast or die. That much at least she understood intrinsically.

Cautiously she got up from her hiding spot and quietly brushed the tangled branches away, making her way slowly around the perimeter to where the deer hung. Every few footsteps, she stopped and listened - still nothing. Just the normal forest sounds of humming and buzzing and the occasional chirping.

She stopped finally in front of the carcass. Her small knife was sharp and ready. It was too far up. She would have to cut the whole damn thing down. Her heart hammered loudly in her chest as she made her way to the rope and sawed it through cleanly.

The deer carcass crashed to the ground louder then she expected and the sound made her jump in terror.

 _Stupid stupid stupid._

She stood frozen for long minutes, waiting on the missing hunting party to suddenly jump through the bushes, spears aimed at her heart.

But they never came.

 _Well, now what?_

She glanced at her knife and back at the carcass. It was a good knife, but she had never quartered an animal of this size alone. And she had only ever skinned rabbits back at camp but their flesh parted easily from their bodies. This gigantic buck was certainly not going to be built like a tiny rabbit. She didn't have a saw to hack through the bone or tougher ligaments and there was obviously no way she could drag the entire animal back to her camp.

 _Great. I'm a moron._

Trying to remember what she knew, she grabbed the front quarter and moved the shoulder joint around in its socket. Rigor mortis had passed which she at least knew meant the animal could be butchered easily - relatively speaking.

She pulled the shoulder away from the torso of the deer, exposing the hinge and began to cut parallel to the rib cage until her knife hit the shoulder joint and it became tougher. Despite the cold, sweat formed on her body as she cut as quickly and efficiently as she could. After what felt like an eternity, the front quarter fell away from the rest of the carcass and Clarke sat down heavily with a sigh. She was warm at least through her exertions even though she knew the sweat would quickly dry leaving her colder then before and in danger of hypothermia.

She slung the hunk of meat across one shoulder and began to move in the direction of her shelter. It was an hour away and she had to move quickly and be careful not to leave tracks behind that could be easily followed.

The deer carcass Clarke left behind, taking the valuable rope with her. She knew it would likely be ruined and scavenged by the time the hunting party returned but she also really didn't care.

The Grounders certainly were good at taking care of their own first. Clarke decided she would do the same.

The trek back to her camp exhausted her further. Little food and poor sleep had left her easily tired. She had found this hidden little spot two days ago and decided it was safe enough to rest up in for a while - little choice in the matter really, she had scant supplies and the cold days made travel difficult and dangerous.

The "camp" was a small clearing covered in thorny bushes and dense pines that she had to climb down a steep ledge to access. A small cave was hallowed out into the rock, more of a ledge really though it opened up further inside so that it was tall enough to almost stand in, but the lack of any air flow would made a fire inside dangerous and likely to suffocate her in her sleep even as it kept her warm.

The outer ledge was almost perfect, longer then her and shaped slightly like an oval bowl. Underneath was space to keep a fire lit through the day that warmed the rock ledge above sufficiently to keep her at least slightly warm. She had filled it further with pine needles for added insulation and covered herself with pine boughs for added warmth at night. The opening she concealed with more boughs to hide the ledge, and hopefully her.

It was enough. Just barely.

She stoked up the fire with her store of wood and kindling and set to skinning the hunk of deer meat. It was a frustratingly long time before she could finally pierce it with sharp sticks and set it to roast on the fire. Finally, filling up her metal canteen with pine needles, she set that to boil into a nourishing tea and gloomily watched the fire, feeding it sticks and twigs periodically, huddling as close as possible for warmth.

Fire was another risk she took. But death without one was almost certain.

It felt good to sit still with the knowledge she would eat well that night and for several more afterwards. But this stillness and seeming peace gave her time to think and that was not a good thing from her perspective.

The past was a dark, almost living thing that seemed to loom over and threaten to overtake her at moments like this when she had a time to spare. And she wasn't ready. She doubted she would ever _be_ ready to face it but certainly not now and _not yet_.

Survival gave her something tangible to focus on. Clarke knew she would have to make her way to a village and steal supplies or the winter would kill her. Doing this by herself was daunting but it wasn't even the threat of getting caught and probably executed that scared her, but just the thought of coming into contact with humanity again. The stench of humanity. The sounds of human voices. All the evidence of their pathetic existence on this planet made her shy away. She hadn't even heard the sound of her own voice in days and she was okay with that. Out here in the woods there were no obligations save for those focused on survival. Out here she was no different from that deer. Out here there was no war.

She sketched out some semblance of a plan in her head while carving strips of hot flesh off of the hunk of shoulder meat. It was good. Very good. The hollowness in her belly began to feel satiated. Warmth from the meat and hot pine tea crept its way through her body and drowsily she stored the remainder of the meat further into the cave away from any scavenging animals. Covering herself with the pine boughs, knife always ready in hand, she drifted off into an almost content sleep.

Tomorrow she would find a village. She would rob them of their food and furs. She would survive another day on the ground.


End file.
